


She's Not Me

by Reservation_Red



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/F, Major character death - Freeform, Split into chapter for my own comfort lmao, Xmas present for Dani
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reservation_Red/pseuds/Reservation_Red
Summary: The world is cruel.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaniJayNel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/gifts).



Historia thought she’d have more time. She knew the world was cruel but she had forgotten how much. How unexpectedly it’d rear its head when she had her back on it. 

“ _My friends all tell me_ ,” Historia absently sang. She was locked in a silent battle of trying to wash off the crusted cheese on a plate. She knew she’d regret not having washed the dishes after last night’s dinner, but Ymir was pretty persuasive about going to bed early.

Who knew simple Macaroni and Cheese could be such a pain? 

“ _To hope for the best but I feel the worst_.” 

_Doesn’t help Ymir didn’t rinse her dish before we..._ Historia chewed the inside of her cheek with some annoyance. _Not like she ever did really help with the dishes…_

“Ah!” Historia’s battle took a turn towards victory! After vigorous scrubbing, the cheese began to slowly flake and peel off. 

Years ago, her struggles were much more different compared to her domestic life now. She doubted her past self would’ve believed that happiness was around the corner. Literally. 

Historia only met Ymir by a rare chance. The day they met, her mother had been hung over that day. She threw money at Historia and told her to go to the corner and find a guy named Connie and buy some weed. Historia knew better than to complain but she hated it. She went to where her mother had said to go to, but Connie wasn’t there—in fact, he was sick at the time and had Ymir, his best friend since Kindergarten, cover him. It was only later that Historia learned that Connie did it to help fund Ymir’s college tuition, but it didn’t matter. 

It was that small moment of coincidence and fate that cemented their relationship. Though, for the sake of their reputation, they both agreed to say that they met at a coffee shop. Only Sasha and Connie knew otherwise. 

Historia found herself smiling at remembering how bad of a dealer Ymir was. She was so nervous and didn’t know a lot of the slang or deals Connie would pull. Absolutely awful. 

Historia laughed, shaking her head. She couldn’t even believe the Ymir now doing it—it was silly. 

There was a knock at their front door as Historia sat down the dish and quickly wiped her hands on a towel. 

“Coming!” She called out, walking to the door. 

If she could go back in time, she might’ve never answered the door. It wouldn’t have changed anything but even after months later Historia couldn’t shake the denial that always swelled in her gut. 

Historia got to the door and glanced at the mirror, smoothing down any stray hairs and putting on a smile. Maybe it was their neighbor’s kid asking to grab their ball from the backyard again? He was getting a strong arm but could improve his aim. 

 

Historia opened the door, unaware. 

Unaware of it all. 

How often did she look back upon this memory, wishing she had died on the spot?

Reiner and Bertolt stood at the door, clad in their officer uniforms. 

“Oh, hello!” Historia wasn’t expecting them but it wasn’t a surprise. Their house was always open to all their friends to come over whenever. It wasn’t uncommon to see one of their friends over during their lunch breaks. “You guys on lunch, or—“

Historia noticed how red Bertolt’s eyes were and how he couldn’t look at her. The man was cowering as he turned away, sobbing into his damp sleeve. 

“G-Guys?” Historia felt nervous. What was going on?

Reiner was stiff as a board, staring down at her, and even then she could see the tears swimming in his eyes. 

“H-Historia,” his voice was cracking, “I—I—“

“What’s wrong?” Historia felt her heart jump into her throat and her hands began to shake. She was suddenly very aware of how the air felt on her skin, how quiet their house was even though the radio was cranked up—how the two were avoiding the bad news—how she felt very small in this world. 

“Y-Ymir died!” Bertolt uncontrollably choked out. Reiner flinched and gaped at Bertolt before instinctively moving into the house, hands going out to Historia. 

“W-We need you to come to the hospital, Historia,” Reiner was already pleading, trying to keep Historia from withdrawing. 

Nobody ever told her how it’d feel to hear those words. 

It felt like someone gutted her. It felt like her whole body became empty the moment her mind comprehended what Bertolt had blurted. 

Her knees were the first to give as Reiner caught her, swearing to himself and demanding Bertolt to do something. 

Then, her tears gave.

Her mouth gave as she wailed into a world without Ymir. And, then, all at once, her heart shattered into irreparable pieces that no amount of therapy, medication, and soothing words could ever fix. 

 

**-x-x-x-**

Her friends kept her company long past the funeral. It was a closed casket service for the sake of appearances. 

During her wake, Historia had taken a peek and felt nothing when she saw the body inside. It was so heavily disfigured and beat up she wanted to believe they had the wrong person—that Ymir would come into the room, laughing, and saying how awful it was for the police and her own family and friends to mistaken her for this—this ugly, horrendous body!—but it never happened. Not during the speeches. Not during the sendoff. Not during the walk to the cemetery, and definitely not during the burial. 

Everyone had something comforting to say and several funny stories to share as they ate what food was prepared. They reveled in Ymir’s legacy and words of wisdom she left them, but Historia didn’t. She couldn’t see how quickly their friends could start to get over her—her therapist would later say that it wasn’t to forget Ymir but to celebrate her life, but Historia didn’t understand. 

Weeks turned to months and slowly those understanding words became more distant, more forced. Her friends came around less often, warded off by her perpetual somber mood. Connie and Sasha were the only ones to continue visiting despite her emptiness, but even their words were becoming less. 

“She would want you to live your life to the fullest.” 

“Historia, c’mon… Ymir would be upset to see you like this!” 

They tried to make her hope for the best but she felt the worst. It didn’t lessen—it only fermented inside of her, growing bitter and acidic as it began to force its way outside, causing her to lash out or isolate herself. 

Historia knew it wasn’t right but she accepted the consequences of her actions. She understood what she was doing but it didn’t matter to her—if she always felt awful why should she pretend she was okay? 

For the sake of others?

Definitely not… Ymir had her promised not to…

Connie was more irritable with her and stopped taking her anger as emotional outbursts. She didn’t blame him. He had known Ymir all his life and was now punished from her death by having to take care of her mentally unstable widow.

Though, it was Sasha who seemed to only understand. She was always the one to wake up and listen to Historia on the phone late at night even if she had work early. It was her that cooked her meals and made sure she ate and even had Historia keep a journal of her meals. 

It was also Sasha to pick her up from the hospital when Historia’s attempts didn’t bear fruit. 

“I don’t know what to do,” it came with Sasha’s sobs. Historia could hear Sasha’s heart cracking with every word. “I don’t know how I can help anymore, Historia. I’m trying so hard to be there for you, but I feel like it’s not helping—what can I do? What can I do?” 

She blamed herself. 

Historia wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault but she didn’t have the energy to answer. She only laid in the hospital bed, ready for discharge as Sasha held her hand. The other girl’s fingers brushed against the thick bandages around her wrists and flinched away from it to only cry louder. 

“I want you to get better, Historia.” The words stung. 

How could she ever get better? She tried it for a few weeks—eating right, working out, and even spending more time awake than sleeping. It only resulted in her feeling worse, waiting as if Ymir would bulldoze into the room, yelling that Historia had to get up and make breakfast, or that they’ve been cooped up in the house too long and need to go out and do something. 

“What can I do? Please, tell me.” Sasha held her face, trying to calm down. “I’m running out of ideas… I don’t want—I don’t want to give up.” 

Historia only stared ahead, ignoring Sasha’s pain, because she didn’t know how to handle even her own. If Historia knew how to fix it, she wouldn’t be like this. 

The only thought… was impossible…

_If Ymir was still alive, everything would be better._

_Historia closed her eyes._

_That’s why Historia wanted to die. The only way she could ever see Ymir again, be with her, kiss her, and hug her, sleep with her— she’d have to die._

_“Just.” She breathed._

_Sasha stared at her with pleading eyes, readily listening._

_“Let me die next time.”_

__How cruel I’ve become._ _

__How selfish._ _

__Isn’t this what I wanted—to only live for myself?_ _

__If I had to live for myself, Ymir, then, I only want to die for you._ _

__Isn’t that only fair?_ _

_The doctor came in and did the procedural paperwork, having Historia sign that she won’t do it again, again, and that she’d be in close contact with her therapist._

_The drive home with Sasha was silent. The girl hadn’t said a word the moment Historia spoke at the hospital._

_Maybe the next time would be successful._

__Sorry, Sasha. Please understand… I’m just no good anymore. Run while you can._ _


End file.
